


I forgot how to blame you for this

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-11-18
Updated: 2006-11-23
Packaged: 2018-12-27 10:46:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12079512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: You try and ignore the fact that your so dependent upon whats residing in a loft (instead of a country manor with you). You should have listened to him all those years ago when he told you all you should need is yourself. You wish all you needed was you.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

  
Author's notes: I will eventually add on to thisI think. what do you think?  


* * *

These days everything is buisness. Brian used to say it was all about sex wherever you go. But you've been in New York for over 7 months, and so far everywhere you turn its all buisnesses. Even at sex clubs, bars and baths - theres advertisments on the walls and men handing you their cards even though you have no idea where they came from considering most of them are naked. You have no time for fucking, only painting. The curator breathes down your neck twenty-four fucking seven and the buyers are constantly telling you what you should improve on. You yell sometimes, throw your hands in the air and say this is your work and it comes out the way you want it to. Theres no improving creation or muting the flow. You didn't believe a word that was coming out of your mouth, but they did and thats all that mattered.

Gradually you miss Liberty avenue more and more. At first New York was too busy, crowded and eventful to think about what you came from. But now all you see is empty holes in the crowds where your friends should be. The nights are the worst, it's easier if you unplug the phone and you can sleep easier knowing the reason it hasn't rung in a week is because of that not because he's moved on. He's forgotten that its only time. And you've forgotten what that means. 'Time' is a word that excuses him missing you. 'Time' is blended together lately. You can never remember Wednesdays or Sundays, they've eluded to blurred out colours. Red is usually fridays, because the owner of the gallery wears his favorite red shirt on Fridays. Yellow is Tuedays, the diner across from your studio has a part time waitress with yellow shoes. She works Tuesdays and Thursdays and Saturdays but Tuesday is the only day you have time for the diner.

You think sometimes that the cold feeling in your stomach is something you've heard about in articles on depressed teenagers but never really experienced until lately. Other times you try and ignore the fact that your so dependent upon whats residing in a loft (instead of a country manor with you). You should have listened to him all those years ago when he told you all you should need is yourself. You wish all you needed was you.

You try not to think about what is left behind, and try and focus on whats ahead of you. You have amazing clients who are awaiting your next peice of art you basically pull out of your ass. Because back in Pittsburg you had inspiration and a muse. In New York you've become bone dry with ideas. You're trying to think of beautiful things that happen here to people. To pretend some of it's happening to you. You were never into pretending though, and so you sit in your studio above a starbucks and draw on that computer he gave you, browsing through the previously drawn photos; a pale green Brian eating an apple, his body twisting in an almost too perfect manner on the blue bedspreads. Brian sitting at his own computer, one hand on his forehead and the other on the mouse. You remember that day. He had a new advertisment due and the head guy from his art department quit and he asked you to help and you refused to accept his money.

You realize now that independence is nothing if you don't depend on someone else in another aspect of your life. You wish you weren't so stubborn to know that your hand still works the same back in Pittsburg.

It's been over 3 months since you've had a visit from him, and almost 4 weeks since you've spoken with eachother over the phone. And 4 days ago you decided to begin the impossible process of forgetting Brian Kinney.  



	2. Chapter 2

  
Author's notes: Yes,Brians POV now. Review.=D  


* * *

These days everything is buisness. You used to fuck every hot guy you wanted, that is until the only real guy you wanted fit himself perfectly into your twisted world. At first he was an annoyance, then he grew into someone you didn't mind having around every now and then - and somewhere between the crack of the bat hitting his skull and the grocery shopping you knew this kid wasn't going to leave (and you prayed you would never want him to). You admit you tried at first to push those feelings out of your head. You fucked guys on the couch when you knew he'd be home any minute. You timed it perfectly, about 5 minutes before you and the nameless guy came. The look on his face almost fucking killed you, but you kept fucking this guy until you were slightly satisfied with yourself.

It's an amazing realization when you sit down in the loft you now realize is too big for one person, that theres no longer time for anyone else and you wonder how you ever found time to fuck all those men. You havn't fucked anyone in 2 months, and you can't help but know the fact of the reason isn't because you're too busy. It's because they don't measure up. You wish you never met him. Then you wouldn't have to walk around everyday knowing that there was someone out there that you could have changed for - (that you did change for). That someone like him exists, but not with you.

You are, to say the least, ashamed at how many times you tested him. Pushed him away to see if no matter what he would come back. And he always did. That persistant little fuck. You can write stories, and mouth off million dollar rants about how 'all you need is you' and pretend that isn't a crock of shit. You can't open up a goddamn magazine now that has his name in it, or a poorly taken photograph of his latest (billiant) work. Sometimes theres a photo of him, and he looks so content, smilling infront of the camera. So you made the decision that you shouldn't fuck this up for him. He's finally the best man he could be and you could ruin it with a call or a visit. Set him back a few days on his paintings or his interview he will cancel if he knows your going to be there.

So you havn't bought a plane ticket to New York in 3 months. You've stopped calling 4 weeks ago and you try and convince yourself that this is better for him. It's easier because about 3 days ago you come to the startling realization that in 4 weeks he hasn't called you either. So now you know it's for the better. He doesn't want to talk to you. Though you admit everytime your phone vibrates on your desk you dash to see whose calling.

You always look for new articles on him, even though this is your stepping to forgetting Justin Taylor and his beautiful hands. In these newer photos oh him his hair is no longer golden, more of a smokers teeth yellow. You blame it on the NY air. He probably spends his time sitting in parks, on benches and watching people. Drawing what he sees. Sometimes you wish he would draw you, but for 4 weeks you've mastered the lie that you don't care if he ever calls.

"Why can't you just call him?" Mikey will say over dinner at him and the professers house.  
You shake your head and smile "Why doesn't he just call me? Why does it always have to be me to take that step?"  
"Because he's been taking them for the last 5 years."

Somewhere in your mind you know Mikey is right but you just can't give yourself the time to think more about it. You wonder who his muse is in the big city. Who holds him at night, who pushes the now stained hair out of his eyes. You can't think about those things for too long, so you call your son and ask him how school was. He talks for hours, and you wonder where he picked that up from. Probably JR. She's just like her father. A half an hour later Gus changes the topic and is talking about his memories book and 5 words changed it all.

"Remember that house you bought?"

And you realized you're testing him again. You bought a plane ticket to New York 45 minutes ago.


End file.
